Strings of Fate
by Mystikwriter
Summary: When the Bond Ardeth shares with Horus threatens the Medjai's soul, Rick will unknowingly step in to save his friend's life, using powerful magic he unknowingly possesses. There is no such thing as coincidence when Fate is pulling the strings.
1. Chapter 1

Okay so this is something I came up with after I wrote _Fate Decides_. I'm not sure how long it will be, but I know for a fact that it will be at least three chapters long. Other than that, I'm still in the editing process so I can't give any guarantees.

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Strings of Fate

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The crack of a gunshot reverberated down through the trees. The ringing sound sliced through the muted sounds of wildlife that had only moments ago surrounded the small party. They froze as the air shattered around them, hands instinctively moving to weapons and wary gazes searching for the enemy. One among them felt the intrusion far more keenly, and Ardeth whirled around, dark eyes searching the trees for the weapon's owner.

In the wake of the gunshot's faded echoes the pain struck.

All his life, Ardeth had heard the tales of the agony a broken bond could bring forth. He had understood the risks upon creating his own, acknowledged that one day he would be forced to feel the searing heart pain as his Bonded was torn away from him by death. He had expected it one day, but not today, not now. The suddenness of it caused his breath to tangle in his throat, and his chest burned. He felt the hot lead pierce his body, fire exploding outward through his chest only to be quenched in an endless darkness.

Ardeth's mind reeled beneath the white agony that flared across the bond, and he gasped as Horus's mind, a warm hollow within his own that felt of soft feathers and gentle ferocity, vanished. The sudden loss left him bereft and he could not stop him self from reaching out, hoping against hope to hold his Bonded close. It was a futile attempt; the bond had been severed beneath the searing heat of a bullet's path, and where Horus had once been there was now a dark void.

The falcon's death had been immediate, a clean stroke of hot lead that had stolen the bird's life in the space of a moment. Horus had been spared the agony of his own death. Ardeth was not so fortunate. The dull twang that had echoed within his soul as the bond tore continued to reverberate within his mind. In its shadow was a frigid emptiness that was foreign to a man that lived in the heart of a desert. Not even the freezing night once the sun abandoned the sky could compare to the cold that seized him from within.

Even knowing the loyal falcon was gone did not stop Ardeth from lurching forward. He ran the last few steps to where a scrap of blue sky peeked through the tree tops. "Horus!" His cry angled up into the open sky, and his grief drove deeper when there was no answering flutter of wings, or a soft chirp of greeting that winged across the surface of his mind.

His Bonded's death tore at him, ripped his soul and mind down the middle and left a gaping wound that threatened to drive him to his knees. The true agony came when he realized he could not mourn. His best friend, his Bonded was dead, and he could not stop to grieve for the terrible loss he had just suffered.

Bleeding from the wound that no normal eyes could see, Ardeth turned to his companions. They had stopped to watch him, their confusion evident. If he'd had the energy he would have wanted to scream at them. How could they not see his pain? In that moment it didn't matter that they were not Medjai and so of course were unaware that the bullet had indeed hit its mark, and then some.

"I must go." It was a miracle he was still standing, that his voice remained even. Every breath hurt like fire in his lungs, worse than any wound inflicted on his body. Through the overwhelming sense of loss, he felt the first spark of alarm. He knew how dangerous soul wounds were. For all its strength, a soul was a tender thing. In comparison to the kind of damage a soul wound could do to a man, the damage caused by bullets or steel was far easier to deal with.

Rick moved toward him, his rifle cradled within his hands. "Wait! Where are you going?"

Ardeth struggled to focus, concentrated on the ground beneath his feet, the muggy air against his water soaked garments. Focused on the bruises that were blooming on his ribs and back from the air ship's impromptu landing, anything but the freezing void in his mind where Horus should have been. "I must let the commanders know where we are."

He had to reach the others. Without the last coordinates he carried the tribes would never be able to find the Oasis in time. If his people did not keep the army busy, there was no telling the kind of damage they might inflict. They had to know, had to be ready.

It didn't matter that by the time the battle was joined he would have already fallen prey to the effects of a broken bond.

Ardeth could already feel it; his soul bleeding sluggishly, every strong heart beat one less second of life. He was slipping into shock, a cold ache centered in his chest where moment's earlier fiery agony had seared his insides raw. The cold was spreading; a gradual expanding that would eventually consume him. If he were to reach a healer in time they would be able to assist his body through the shock, and he would be forced into bed rest for days on end as his very being attempted to heal.

It was out of the question. His duty to his people would not allow him to seek aid, and even if he did, there were no healers close enough to assist him. Only the warriors had made the journey, the rest of their tribes safely tucked away in the secret places that only the Medjai knew of. Ardeth would seek out the warriors and lead them to the resting place of Anubis's army. Then he would do his best to fight along side them. He would fall, that he knew, but he would not let his death be in vain.

"You can't go!" Rick's words tore through Ardeth's thoughts, and the Westerner pushed closer, blue eyes torn between concern and terror.

Ardeth resisted the fear in those eyes. "If the Army of Anubis arises….." Why was he arguing? He knew his duty, knew the cost of the information that weighed heavy on him, knowledge that echoed through an empty spot in his mind where once there had been a second heart beat.

"I need you to help me find my son." Rick reached out, placing his hand over Ardeth's heart.

The moment the warm palm touched Ardeth's chest he was swamped by heat. It slammed through him, shattering the cold that had begun to collect within his chest and suffused his insides with the warmth of the sun. It poured into him like water over sand, and like the sand his body reached for it eagerly, drawing it in and clutching it close.

Following the heat was Rick's desperate plea, carried on the waves of a magic the Westerner did not know he possessed. It was only long familiarity with such magic that allowed Ardeth to accept the foreign presence, allowing it to wash through him without visibly recoiling. His face was remote, only a slight gasp between parted lips betraying him.

The hand over his heart anchored Ardeth, held him up over the grief that clawed at him, razor sharp loss slicing into him with every breath. The magic was a blaze of heat that held the freezing cold at bay, and threaded through the lines of power that twisted through him were Rick's own emotions. With the magic tangled so deep, Ardeth could feel the Westerner's heart against his own. Grief was overlaid with fear, loss drowned by a fierce determination that Ardeth could feel down to the marrow of his bones.

If Ardeth were capable of surprise at this moment he would be torn between the sheer intensity of the connection, and how Rick could manage it at all. He had been right, back in London. Rick was a Protector of Man, a Medjai. That was the only way he would be able to reach so far into Ardeth, with only a touch. That Ardeth's defenses were weakened by Horus's loss only made it easier for the foreign magic to slide home.

Questing magic glided over the soul wound, and Ardeth could feel it gently probe the open gash. It burned, and Ardeth would have jerked away from it, torn his body away from the blessed warmth channeled through him by Rick's hand, only it continued to hover. It remained along the cusp of the wound, a warm presence lighter than the softest touch.

Rick's words tugged at Ardeth, following the pull of magic through his veins. They plucked at oaths he had made upon becoming a man amongst his people, when he had taken his place amongst his Brothers. He had sworn to aid his Brothers in their eternal duty, no matter how great their need, no matter what was asked. The tattoo Rick carried proclaimed him Medjai, and the magic that hovered over the raw hole Horus had once been declared him Brother.

Ardeth considered, all the while aware that the magic coiled around his soul was waiting, watching. He would help O'Connell. His oath's would not allow him to turn away from a Brother in need, and even more than that a friend. It was the presence of the magic that forced him to hold his tongue and consider.

There was a balance at work here. By saying yes to Rick he would be risking everything. Not his life, for that was already out of his reach, but the world's fate. It was only natural amongst his people that such an offer would be met halfway.

He could feel the magic's intent. Once he said yes, it would reach out, and heal the wound that was slowly draining his life away. If it were only his life at stake, Ardeth would have agreed instantly. He already owed his life to O'Connell twice over, and the same went for Rick towards him. It was how his life would be saved that made him cautious. For in the saving it would replace Horus, filling the jagged hole in his heart with a new bond, essentially tying him to another in order to keep his body from shutting down.

Tie him to Rick. In the end, there was no choice at all.

"And first I will help you find your son." Ardeth barely stated his intent before O'Connell's power spilled into the gaping hole Horus's death had left. There was searing agony only for the space of a second, and then it was gone, replaced by a dull ache and the sweet taste of spent magic coating his tongue.

"Right." O'Connell clapped him on the shoulder, his relief evident even as he turned back to his wife and brother-in-law.

Ardeth moved to stay by his side. He wished there had been another way, but he knew that there hadn't been. If Rick hadn't touched him then Ardeth would have been able to agree without the magic being able to interfere, but once it had slipped inside him no other outcome was possible.

The Medjai chanced a glance at Rick. The Westerner had no clue what had just happened, he knew. He had not been taught how to sense the magic at work, and the intensity of his fear for Alex would have masked any of the signs of a bond taking place.

Luckily the bond was not a deep one. It was surface level only, and it would stay that way as long as Ardeth kept his side closed, which he was doing now, shoring up his mind's defenses. As long as Rick remained unaware of its presence, and both of them left it alone, it would stay that way.

It was only with the keenest self-discipline that Ardeth managed to turn his thoughts away from what had just occurred. He would help Rick find Alex, and then he would journey to his people and lead them to the coming battle. Only if they survived would he worry about the fragile bond that had replaced warm feathers with soft cotton and deepest blue.


	2. Chapter 2

Breathing hard, Rick clutched Alex to him, letting his head fall back against the stone at his back. The sand beneath him was cold, leeching the heat from his body to replace it with a cool discomfort that seeped up through his cotton shirt. He barely noticed. Seeing the damned bracelet release his son's wrist had filled Rick with a relief so intense that he was beyond such petty discomforts. Instead he focused on the young boy in his arms, the living, breathing boy who would live another day to talk back and drive him crazy with the flashes of intelligence that had to have come from his mother.

He was still basking in the moment when a loud cry brought his head up, exhaustion gone as his body reacted to the pain etched into the sound. Horror blasted through him as he saw Evy hunched over a dark haired woman's arm, a length of metal connecting the two from hand to stomach.

"No!" The denial ripped from his lips, Rick lurched to his feet. He abandoned the cool depths of the pyramid for the baking heat, his fatigue washed away beneath the frantic desperation to reach his wife.

Rick was aware of the woman striding away, but he only had eyes for Evy, who had fallen to her knees, pale hands clutching at her abdomen. He put on a burst of speed as he saw her lean to the side, and he threw him self forward, sliding in beside her to cushion her fall. "Evy!"

Hand cradling his wife's neck and the other pressed over her bloody hand, Rick frantically looked about him. "Jonathan! Jonathan!"

The sound of soft foot falls at his back signaled the arrival of Alex. "Mom!" The boy came to a stop at his shoulder, gasping for air. "You're going to be all right!" Wide eyes took in dark stain darkening his mother's abdomen, her pale face and ragged breaths. "Isn't she, Dad?"

Tearing his gaze away from his wife's face, Rick warded Alex back, even in his terror refusing to let his son see his mother in such a state. She wouldn't want him to see her like this, if anything should happen….no nothing was going to happen. She was going to be fine. "She's going to be all right, Alex."

Jonathan stumbled into view, shaken and wild-eyed as he saw his sister lying prone on the hot sand. Rick gestured at Alex, his voice strangled by his fear. "Just get him –. Take him back –. I can't, don't let him –!"

Rick turned away as his brother-in-law eased Alex back, tucking an arm around his shoulders as he gave Rick and Evy space. He barely heard the other man's mumbled assurances to his son, only having eyes for Evy.

Panic clawed at him as he took in her pale face, the beautiful mouth tight with pain, and her eyes, they were frantic. He eased her hand aside from where it hovered protectively over the spreading darkness and bile crawled up his throat at the gaping maw of flesh he found. "Oh my God, Evy."

Rick tore his eyes away from the bloody hole and found her face instead, a shaking hand reaching out to touch the line of her jaw. "You're strong, Evy. You're gonna make it." The wound was deep, that he could see, and the blood wouldn't stop coming. "You're gonna make it." It was a mantra that echoed through his mind, and he clung to it, refusing to believe in the alternative.

Evy clutches at his hand, her pale lips struggling to form the words that in her time of need had deserted her. Rick returned the hold, gazing down at her fearfully, trying to hold her close with his eyes alone, terrified of pulling her close and causing her even more pain. "What do I do? What do I do, Evy?"

This was not the first time Rick had seen such a fatal blow before, nor was it the first time he had comforted a dying man. But this was no comrade in arms, this was his wife, the love of his life and he could see her blood pouring out into the sand beneath her, the coppery stench of it flooding his nostrils.

Rick could only watch as Evy struggled to breathe, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. Her breath rasped past her dry lips as her eyes beseeched him. "Take care of Alex." It pained her to speak, and her breath hitched again as she struggled to hold on.

Rick didn't feel his own tears, numb to the heat and moisture that slid through dust and sand to drip from his jaw line. His callused hand cradled the side of her face, brushing her hair out of her face. "No. Sweet heart, no. You have to hold on."

He could see that she wanted to, that she struggled to hold onto the life that was even then slipping through her fingers and soaking into her blouse. Her head grew heavier within his grasp and she struggled to draw in another breath. "I love you."

Rick can see that she was losing. Her eyes were fluttering as she tried to stay away, tried to resist the awful lethargy that was spreading outward to her limbs. He touched her cheek again, trying to coax her back to him, anything to keep her from slipping away. There is a moment when she seemed to gather her strength, her body growing tense beside him, only to falter, and she grew lax, her eyes fluttering closed.

Terror swallowed him, and following it was a wave of mind numbing cold that struck his heart and expanded out ward in slick waves of grief that battered against his skin. "Evy?" He shook her gently; lungs tight in his chest as they were crushed by his hope that she would stir, once more look up at him with soft brown eyes that saw so much. "Evy?"

Nothing. She'd grown still against him, too still. Her chest had fallen and it failed to rise again. Sobs shook him as he was forced to face the undeniable, his grief almost too much to bear as he pulled her closer. His heart cried out for her to react, to pull him close as was her nature, but her arms remained still at her side. Shaking and crying, he pulled her against his chest, burying his face in the sweet scent of her hair where the cloying scent of her blood had not yet reached.

His strength abruptly failed him as shock began to set in, and he eased her head back, the dark curls of her hair spreading out beneath her head. Throat constricting with his muted cries, his shaking hand reached out to touch her chin, her bottom lip as he searched for the warmth of her skin against his own.

"Come back. Evy, come back."

The warmth could not be found, her spirit having already fled her body into the sands she loved. Instead a cool chill was already beginning to seep in, an irrefutable sign that his Evy was no more. Sorrow rose up in him, threatening to choke him with its pressure, and he leaned his head against her chest. Head bent, he continued to sob, tears streaming down his face as he mourned the loss of his best friend, his wife, his beloved.

* * *

Ardeth breathed a silent sigh of relief when he reached the edge of the oasis, bright patches of blue gleaming within the backdrop of jewel green. He'd been running nonstop since he saw Rick make off with Alex, Evy and Jonathan close behind them. As much as he wanted to remain with them and make sure the boy was alright, he had pledged to assist O'Connell only until he found his son, and found him he had.

Now he had another duty to fulfill, and must find his people and lead them to the edge of the Oasis, where the Army of Anubis would arise for its new master. Ardeth prayed to Allah that its new master would be O'Connell, and that the Westerner would promptly send the terrible scourge back to the Underworld where it belonged. Such darkness had no place upon this earth. If it were any other man facing such a challenge, Ardeth would have feared that the temptation to control such a destructive force would be too great to resist. However, O'Connell had already proven him self loyal to the cause of the Medjai.

Ardeth's mouth twisted up into the parody of humor. Not to mention the Westerner had exhibited such scorn for anything 'magical' that Ardeth doubted the man would ever tolerate the presence of an army fashioned out of myth itself. No, he trusted O'Connell would do the right thing.

The Medjai was just approaching the stark border between lush greenery and barren sand when terror slammed through him with all the finesse of a sandstorm. So sudden was the attack that his legs failed him, and he sagged to the forest floor, a hand clutching at his chest as the other gripped the hilt of his sword. Instinct bade him hold the wicked blade outwards to defend against his attacker. It took a moment for him to realize that the 'attack' as it were was coming from the new bond nestled within his mind, the edges still raw and tender to the touch.

Having been bonded to Horus for almost six years before the bird's untimely demise; Ardeth was no stranger to dealing with emotions that were not his own. Some bonds, after a certain amount of time, enabled both sides to feel the other. From time to time he had caught Horus's hunger, or joy of flight, but those fleeting impressions did nothing to prepare him for the raw pain that roared through him now.

Fearing the possibility of being drowned beneath it, Ardeth fought it off with every ounce of will he possessed, struggling to bring up his shields and block the connection that writhed and spasmed in his hold. Trying to handle the horror and grief that rattled through him was like trying to handle liquid fire, and it scalded him, burned the edges of his mind black and seared it numb.

Head bowed and gasping for air, Ardeth gradually won out, pushing the foreign emotions back inch by slow inch. Concentrating so intently on protecting his mind from the raging onslaught of Rick's terror, Ardeth was not prepared for the sudden image that crystallized within the depths of his mind. For a fleeting moment he did not see the lush greenery around him, or the distant horizon of endless sand stretching out before him. He saw Evy's face, eyes wide and face tight with pain.

Ardeth moaned and clenched his eyes shut against the awful image, knew without a doubt that Evy was dying, her life sucked away with every gush of blood that stained her front. He felt Rick's horror and as the sharp sorrow washed over him, Ardeth's mind wrenched, and his hands were not clutching sword and wet earth, but a cold hand slick with blood.

Another moan, only this one was different, pitched higher. "No, Evy. No."

Cold terror, Ardeth's own, slid down his spine as he realized that he was seeing out of Rick's eyes, was inside the Westerner looking out. Fear of being consumed beneath the other man's grief spurring him on, Ardeth yanked his mind back, dropping into his own body with a jolt that had his teeth clacking together.

The Medjai wasn't aware of falling onto his side, his focus turned entirely inward as he frantically shored up his side of the bond, his will forcing Rick's sorrow back to keep from overwhelming him. The intensity of it, as well as the effort of holding it back drained Ardeth, and soon he was panting, his hands clenched into white knuckled fists as he struggled to hold the barrier between his mind and Rick's.

Gradually his shields began to take the brunt of the Westerner's pain, and it became easier to breathe. Once Ardeth was sure that he would not be consumed, he opened his eyes to see the sun filtering through the dense tree tops overhead. He was shaking from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. Never before had he ever encountered anything like this, although he feared he knew what it meant.

With such a new bond, Ardeth thought that there was very little to fear from its existence. It had allowed him to know if Horus was in good health, and it had allowed the falcon to find him, no matter where he was. On occasion he had felt the bird's hunger, or fury as another invaded his territory, but they had all been vague. Bare flickers of emotion that had faded almost before Ardeth realized that they were there.

What had just happened though, it boded complications that Ardeth had never thought possible. In hind sight he should have realized. He had hoped that the bond would remain light, a brief touch that would allow a sense of familiarity and trust between him self and O'Connell, a brother in arms. But he had not accounted for any strong emotions, such as the death of the other man's wife, and the sheer strength of Rick's grief had slammed through the bond and into him. In the process it sank the edges of the bond deeper into both their minds, searing it in place thus making it a two way channel that both their emotions could travel down at will.

A sign of how deep the bond had become was the vision he had glimpsed. For a second he had 'seen' Evy's face, as if she were lying right in front of him. He had seen through Rick's eyes, had in fact been Rick if only for a few moments. A few moments that had changed the course of his life forever.

Ardeth would never have guessed that the bond between them was capable of reaching such depth, and now it was too late to change what had already been done. Even attempting it would damage both his and Rick's souls indefinitely. They were stuck together, their souls connected and Rick had no idea.

Rick. The other man's grief had yet to abate, had only seemed to grow more intense the longer Ardeth lay there. The Medjai could feel it straining against his barrier, feel it itching to swarm out into the darkness of his own mind in order to relieve the pressure. It was difficult to keep the Westerner out when his own grief grew heavy on his chest. Evy had been a woman to respect, her keen intelligence and steadfast determination admired by all who knew her. Ardeth mourned her loss, his eyes clenched shut as his sorrow threatened to weaken the wall holding back Rick's pain.

Taking a deep breath, Ardeth forced his eyes open, steeling him self as he dragged him self to his feet, his legs shaking and twitching beneath him. He was going into shock, he knew. The human body was capable of being pushed to the breaking point by emotions alone. Throw another person's feelings into the mix and Ardeth was mildly surprised that he could manage to stand at all.

Falling back on training, he pushed away his own grief, balling it up and shoving it down to deal with at another time. It was hard, the emotion wanting to leap about and rip him apart from the inside out. Instead he strove for the center of calm he had built for him self, a sanctuary he retreated into when he knew he would be demanding more than his body could give. Now was not the time for emotions. There was nothing he could do for Evy.

If he got to the Medjai army in time, he might be able to save Rick and the others.


	3. Chapter 3

Rick wasn't sure how long he cried over Evy's body. Two minutes, two hours, time had ceased to flow smoothly around him, bunching up and shorting out. Time didn't matter anymore. Only the burning ache in his chest where his wife should have been.

Sitting up, Rick blinked as the blinding sun beat down on his head. His hands were still, clenched tightly into desperate fists as he looked down at Evy's still face. So still. Evy was never still. She was always in motion; laughing, scowling, rolling her eyes as she watched the men in her life out-stubborn the world.

He wanted to stay here, by her side. Maybe if he held her tight enough, looked at her pale face long enough, then he could somehow will the life back into her body. Then he would see laughing brown eyes once again. Against his will his gaze dropped to the raw hole peeking through the ragged rip in her shirt. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of it, but couldn't look away.

Beneath the anguish that made every breath painful, something snarled. It was a darkness that lurked behind the grief, a burning rage that steadily rose to the surface, a hunter stalking its prey. It moved slowly, sliding up towards the light. It shouldered aside the grief and clawed its way to the top, where it snarled and snapped. An image came to mind, and he saw the woman, who could only be Anck Su Namun, with her blade buried in his wife's gut, Imhotep throwing Jonathan to the side like a broken twig.

None of this would have happened if it weren't for that twice damned priest. The rage flared higher as he remembered Anck Su Namun stepping away from his wife, her contempt shining clear through dark eyes. All of this done for power, and for what? To destroy the world. What purpose would it serve?

The rage that slipped through him like slow spreading poison was welcome, anything to beat back the devastating loss that made it impossible for him to move, to think. Instead of letting the tempting flames spread through him though, he held them, caught them and channeled them. He knew better than to let his rage get the better of him. Better to use the energy it gave him rather than let it run rampant and get him self killed. After all, there was no way he was going to let Imhotep walk out of that temple with an army, or his life.

His fury snapped and snarled, but eventually it subsided to a low burn, just waiting to flare into life. It was as he was shoving it down that a whisper of calm appeared to him. It was quiet, carrying with it overtones of the kind of silence that only the desert could bring, the wind a low hum over the heaving dunes. Rick didn't question it, only grabbed a hold of it and held on tight, using it to cushion him for what he was going to have to do.

"Alex." Rick's voice was rough, rubbed raw by his sobs. Turning away from Evy's body he faced his son. "C'mere."

The boy rushed towards him, no longer restrained by Jonathan's arm around his shoulder. He flung his thin arms around Rick's neck, pressed his wet cheeks against dusty cotton. "Dad."

Rick closed his eyes, tears threatening at the tortured sound of his son's voice. Words escaped him, and he could only draw his son closer and wrap his arms around him. It hurt, fighting so hard to save one life only to lose another, but that didn't stop the relief that edged his grief. At least his son was safe.

Glancing over Alex's shoulder, he saw Jonathan. The younger man looked shell shocked, his skin pasty white beneath the glaring son, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheeks wet. Their eyes met and there was a moment when both acknowledged what the other had lost; a wife, a sister.

Easing his son to the side, Rick shuffled over, giving Jonathan room to reach the fallen woman behind him. Jonathan flinched at his now uninterrupted view of his sister, but then he tucked it behind a blank mask that looked so foreign on the lanky man's thin face. Clearing his throat, Jonathan moved forward, his steps slow and careful like an old man, or someone who was trying not to jostle a painful injury. Rick didn't turn around to see Jonathan's last good byes to Evy.

"Alex, your mother loved you." When had it ever hurt this bad to speak? The words caught in Rick's throat, threatening to choke him the tears and sand.

"I know, Dad." A sniffle, and a small hand came to wipe away the sand crusting wet eyes.

But Rick could see it, the stiff line of the boy's shoulders, the quivering bottom lip. The bleak light in eyes that should have been bright with intelligence and laughter. Knowing he had to say this now in order to forestall the darkness he could sense collecting within his son's mind, Rick gripped Alex by the shoulders, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze. "This is not your fault, Alex."

A strangled cry told him that his suspicions were correct. He forged onward. "You are not to blame for this. Nothing could have stopped us from coming for you."

"If only I…" Alex gasped, his voice growing thick with tears. "I shouldn't have put on the bracelet." His voice had dropped to a bare whisper.

"If you hadn't, then we would never have been here to stop Imhotep." Time pressed down on him, and as much as he wanted to comfort his son Rick knew he was running out of time. Imhotep was already inside the pyramid and there was no telling how much time he needed to fight the Scorpion King. The clock silently counting down in his head he braced his hands on thin shoulders, forcing Alex to look up. "It is not your fault. I need you to know this, Alex."

"Okay, Dad." There was still doubt there, buried beneath tears and shock, but at least Rick had told him. In time Alex would be able to recognize that while he played a part, he was not responsible. Rick pulled him into another hug, this one tight enough to hurt, but Alex didn't struggle, only pulled him closer.

When Rick finally released him he eased back, giving his son some space to collect himself. "I have to go, Alex, and I need you to stay here."

He could see the panic that drained the blood from Alex's face, see the way he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. But instead of protesting, he only nodded stiffly, eyes downcast.

It sliced Rick open to the core, seeing Alex hold back his fear. His son was only eight. He shouldn't have to deal with losing a parent, or fighting to save the world. He shouldn't have been forced to face an evil like Imhotep, a rotten corpse of a man with a soul that hungered for power beyond all else. The fury that burned inside him threatened to erupt then, looking down at his son who was struggling to bear up beneath impossible burdens.

He held onto the strange calm with both hands, desperately pushing back the anger until it was simmering once again. Face tight, Rick got to his feet, both hands resting on Alex's shoulders. "Stay here." He repeated the warning, knowing that grief would not hold his son back for long. It hurt, to see Evy's determination reflected in his son's eyes.

Rick spared a glance at Jonathan, who having heard Rick getting to his feet, turned to look up at him. The Englishmen didn't take his hand off of Evy's, but he did meet Rick's gaze. If he had been able to feel anything at the time, Rick would have felt ashamed of the way he had treated his brother-in-law. For in his eyes was an unspoken promise that, no matter what happened, he would make sure that Alex got out of there alive.

He would have said something, but Jonathan merely nodded slightly, his mouth pressed into a grim line. It didn't fit on his face, forming shadows over what should have been bright eyes. The eyes that watched him now were dull, lit only by a wordless pledge that made it hard for Rick to breathe. There was far more to Jonathan than Rick had ever given him credit for.

Sparing one more glance between all that remained of his family, Rick turned and strode towards the pyramid looming overhead.

* * *

Clucking his tongue, Ardeth soothed his horse when it began to paw at the sand, a tanned hand rubbing the sun-warmed neck. He could understand Antar's frustration. While patience was a way of life for his people that did not mean that he had to enjoy it. It was difficult to stand still and wait for the coming battle instead of seeking it out. Better to choose the battle ground where he would make his stand than have it chosen for him.

In spite of the soothing touch the stallion exhaled loudly, shifting from foot to foot beneath him. The horse even went so far as to shake his head, his dark mane whipping through the air as his reins jangled.

"Antar seems out of sorts." Essam murmured beside him, dark eyes watching Ardeth. The other man's expression was unreadable from behind the dark wrap covering the lower half of his face.

Ardeth kept his face bland and his eyes forward to avoid most of his friend's scrutiny. "He senses our purpose. It is not every day we battle the Army of Anubis."

"True, but this is not Antar's first battle. Nor is he usually so skittish. Especially not while you are riding him."

Ardeth didn't respond. He knew why Antar was unsettled. As long as he'd ridden the strong-willed stallion, it would be impossible for him to hide his unease from the beast. Horses were naturally perceptive creatures, and Antar could undoubtedly sense Ardeth's unease concerning the new bond so recently seared into his psyche.

He had managed to barricade his mind against Rick's emotions, but he could still feel them. It left him apprehensive, his own emotions scraped raw from the continuous backlash. That the bond was managing to leak through the shields boded ill, a looming threat over what should have been salvation.

Instead of sealing Rick's emotions away, his shields were muting them. It was like peering through sheer silk, he could vaguely make them out, but the detail was obscured. He felt an echo of Rick's pain, his sorrow. But recently a deep rage had begun climbing its way to the fore front. Where the pain had sliced at him, the rage burned. It was a brand, white heat that seared into his mind and heart. The sheer intensity of what he felt festering inside Rick was enough to have him regarding the bond between them warily. What would happen should that rage creep across their bond to him?

"I am….worried for the O'Connells." Ardeth did not bother concealing his hesitation, knowing it would only enforce the evasion. Lying to his friend was not an easy task, but there was no point in informing Essam of the broken bond, and its unorthodox replacement. It would only make the other man worry when his attention would soon be needed for far more dire circumstances. As it was, his worry was not entirely feigned.

"You fear that they will not succeed?" No scorn in Essam's voice, none of the carefully coached disdain that his people assumed when discussing a Westerner.

"I fear that what we are asking of them will be paid in blood, their blood, which they have no obligation to offer in our stead." Blood that had already been spilled across hot sand, warm brown eyes gone dark. Ardeth suppressed a shiver, and patted the side of Antar's neck in a show of soothing the agitated stallion, when it was he himself who needed the contact. "They were not trained for this, as we were."

"It is as you say," Essam acknowledged. "However, as living beings they have an obligation to protect their world, just as we do." A dark hand pulled down the wrap to reveal the man's smile, dark eyes gleaming with muted good humor. "Do not underestimate your companions, Ardeth. This is not the first time Allah has called on them to help us in our task. Have faith that He knows what He is doing, even if we do not."

Ardeth nodded, but his friend's words did little to dispel the restlessness that had taken a hold of him. He had seen the tattoo that marked Rick as Medjai, but he had none of the training that made Ardeth's people so formidable when facing the supernatural. Ardeth could not help but question Essam's reasoning, although it was hardly the other Medjai's fault.

Yes, Rick had defeated Imhotep once before. But he had had Evy with him, and with her gone, who was going to help him now?


	4. Chapter 4

Rick used little caution as he strode into pyramid. He wasn't worried. He knew that Imhotep's goal was deep within, and the priest did not consider Rick an opponent worth considering. Not when there was a Scorpion King to vanquish and a dark army to steal. Rick would have thought that the priest would have learned better than to underestimate him by now, but power was just as blinding as arrogance.

The inside of the pyramid was cool, a shock after so much time spent in the scalding Egyptian sun. He hesitated a second to give his eyes time to adjust to the abrupt change from blinding light to stifling darkness. He had never been comfortable surrounded by so much stone. It pressed down on him not with the weight of solid rock, but with the weight of the ages. On some of Evy's digs, there were moments where he had felt something, aware that he was being watched.

Evy had chuckled when he'd first confessed his suspicions. She'd shaken her head and called him paranoid, a side effect of carrying so many weapons to a dig site. Rick had never mentioned it again, but the itch between his shoulder blades that told him he was being watched had never truly faded. It was back again, a subtle tingling along the back of his neck that made him want to turn around and peer into deep shadows.

Thinking of his wife and how she would never be able to tease him again would have crippled him if the rage hadn't shoved it aside, brutally beat it down before it could gnaw at the cold determination that kept him moving. Near the entry way he found an unlit torch resting in its bracket and in a matter of moments he had it lit, the fire crackling hungrily. Eying the old torch, Rick figured he had only a little ways to go before the flame devoured the ancient oil rag.

Following a silent prompting, he turned and headed towards a dark entry way. His torch beat back the shadows, the flames snapping and hissing as they consumed its source. Where before Rick had moved without caution, now his steps slowed. Instincts honed by years of knowing that his life hung in the balance of moving one second faster than the other guy screamed that something was not right. Not wrong, but different. The air was a little colder, the sand strangely muted beneath his feet. Little things that he wouldn't have noticed if he weren't alone with his nerves buzzing.

He had just turned the corner when he felt something ripple a head of him. His mind struggled to grasp what he was feeling when a force blasted past him. Heat struck him, wheeled him around, and for one terrifying moment he felt something alien brush through him. It was cold where the first surge had been unbearably hot. What ever it was, it was vast, massive compared to him. There was no mercy there, unyielding power that slid over and through him.

In the space of a breath he was the focus of something beyond human imagination; a chilling regard that seared him, diving down into dark corridors of him self that he did not know existed. In that darkness something clicked and rattled, a dry rasp of pincers brushing against something so very vulnerable. Rick barely had time to gasp before it was gone, leaving him staggering in its wake, a trail of gleaming gold the only sign of its existence.

* * *

Ardeth hissed as he felt the surge of power that washed through Rick, clenched Antar's reins in tight fists as an alien power brushed against the raw patch across Rick's soul that tied him to Ardeth. A chill whipped through him, the block he had in place doing nothing to ward him from the death god's touch. He could feel the foreign power slide around inside him, an echo of scuttling feet and the dry rasp of shell armor over sand sounding within his being.

"Ardeth! What is wrong?"

Ignoring Essam's plea, Ardeth spurred Antar forward; towards the dark power he felt swelling in the distance. The tense stallion fairly leapt forward and only with Ardeth's firm hand did he settle down and keep to a steady pace. As one the army followed his lead, the thunder of hundreds of hooves striking the sand a muted roar in his ears.

The army had barely begun moving when a black shadow slid across a far dune, staining the sand with darkness when no clouds barred the sun's place in the sky. Ardeth felt the hair rise along the back of his neck and arms as the dark power glided closer. It flew across the sands in a sea of writhing claws, mimicking the waves of an ocean as it neared their position.

Ardeth barely heard the men's startled cries and muttered oath's as those who could sense magic felt the sheer power that painted the sands black. A familiar pressure between his shoulder blades had him twisting around to see that Essam was watching him, dark eyes sharp with confusion and worry. Ardeth's mouth pulled down into a dark frown as he realized that if they both should survive this battle he owed his friend an explanation.  
Without a word Ardeth spurred Antar forward until he was slightly a head of the others. As the one who had led his people to the field of battle, so to would he lead them across it to face the enemy. Looking out at the black sands that seethed at the edges with phantom scorpions, Ardeth prayed that Rick would be successful.

"So it begins."

* * *

Clutching his torch as a make shift weapon, Rick made his way down the twisting hallway, his feet moving whisper soft over cool sand. Walking was proving to be more difficult than he remembered. He had to focus on the walls and where he was placing his feet. His skin was tingling, hair standing on end and littered with goose bumps. Everything seemed distant, distorted almost. The warmth of the torch did little to extinguish the chill that had slipped beneath his skin. His mind was fuzzy, and he kept blinking, strange lights dancing along the edge of his vision only to disappear when he turned to face them.

It was unnerving, and Rick wondered if it had anything to do with the presence he had felt. He felt violated, sliced open and turned inside out for inspection. Something had seen through him, before sliding away and leaving him gasping in its wake. Rick had never felt anything like it, and he hoped to God that he would be spared the experience a second time.

Surrounded by shadows that danced beneath the long line of braziers set into the glittering walls, Rick could feel the dark intent that shaped this place. It was a palpable sensation; a stickiness to the air he breathed, a bitterness that struck the back of his throat. Without knowing how he knew, Rick was aware that the power that swept by him earlier was at fault.

As the blast of strange power washed over him, he had gotten a sense that it was twisted out of shape. A perversion of what should have been clean and radiant, a delicate balance that was tenuous at best. It had set his teeth on edge and made his skin crawl to feel the raw slide of broken power. His certainty was disorienting. It was not something he had been told, or learned. It was fragile, wisps of confidence that slid away when he tried to grasp a hold of it, to understand.

Rick froze as the sound of grunts reached him. Still feeling off balance and wishing that the fog would clear out of his head, Rick approached slowly. Turning the corner he saw that the passageway opened up into a brightly lit room. The grunts grew louder.

Rick followed the light, eager to leave behind the flickering darkness that his torch only threw into bright relief. Movement to his left drew his attention and Rick's head snapped around. He relaxed when he saw Hafez pressed up against a massive rendering of a scorpion, its wicked claws pointed inward as if to spear the man for daring to tread too close.

A quick glance determined the man no threat. His arm appeared to be stuck inside the statue and he wasn't going anywhere soon. Rick dismissed him; he would sate his rage on Imhotep.

"You're too late O'Connell. I have released the Army of Anubis."

So it was this man who was responsible for that surreal blast. His focus only sharpened. Now he had even more reason to find Imhotep, not that he needed it. Even knowing that he would not be able to bring Evy back by slaying the undead priest did little to assuage his fury. It would bring him satisfaction, and that would have to be enough.

As he turned away a statue caught his eye. Or at least the double bladed ax caught in its immortal grip. His eyes followed the firelight that danced across the wicked edge, maintaining its sharpness even through the passage of time. Rick tossed the torch aside and reached for the smooth handle. Hafez's voice was an indistinct buzzing in his ears as he lifted the weapon free.

"Lord Imhotep shall soon kill the Scorpion King and take command of his armies." The Curator's tone was rather triumphant for a man that couldn't run away.

Rick weighed the axe, his dark gaze taking in the burnished metal. The weight was comforting in his hands, holding a deadly familiarity. The balance was a little off, but it was something he knew how to compensate for. He didn't question where the knowledge had come from when he had never before held such a weapon. It was there, and he would use it.

"Not after I get through with him." Rough satisfaction coated his tone, hands tight around the axe's stave.

The beginnings of laughter at his back were strangled beneath pain-filled cries. Rick whirled around, his new axe leveled at the threat. He watched as Hafez was yanked against the body of the statue, his shrill cries mingling with the ominous sound of ripping flesh. When he finally managed to pull away, he cradled an arm stripped to the bone. All that was left was slimy mucus and bone poking out of a shredded sleeve.

Taking in the hideous remains of Hafez's arm, Rick snorted, dark satisfaction mingling with the barely banked rage that seethed through him. Perhaps there was justice in the world after all. Turning his back on the man and his whimpering cries, Rick strode towards the far passageway. He had a priest to find.


	5. Chapter 5

Rick was getting his ass kicked.

His punch was swept aside and followed up by a vicious back hand that snapped his head to the side. Before he could recover pain exploded across his abdomen as a fist drove into his gut, lifting him clear off his feet.

Gasping for air, Rick stumbled back, his face twisted into a snarl as he glared at Imhotep. The priest only grinned smugly as he advanced, the firelight writhing in the dead man's eyes.

His fury burning as bright as the gouts of flame that shot up out of the jagged crevice close by, Rick lunged, his fist aimed for Imhotep's smiling face. The priest took the blow, but before Rick could follow it up with another he spun away, delivering a gut busting kick to Rick's side. Two more blows to the face knocked Rick back several paces, stars exploding across his vision and obscuring the cavern.

He didn't know what was wrong. Everything felt out of balance. He looked at Imhotep and beyond the fury he heard a wild keen, an implacable unease that declared the man an abomination. More than that though was the implacable desire to cut him down, not for vengeance, but to retain the balance that had been ripped apart by his resurrection. Only he wasn't sure what balance had been broken and why did he keep getting flashes of familiarity with the way Imhotep was moving? His moves were archaic at best, but Rick felt like he should _know_ them.

Beyond that was the strange way his rage was beginning to _echo_. He could feel it pushing against his breast bone, thrumming through his arms and legs, only it went somewhere else as well. And threaded through the rage were the indistinct flashes of _other_. Determination would bloom in the back of his mind, and Rick would stumble, seized with the certainty that it was _not his._

Pain flared across his jaw as Imhotep scored another hit, and Rick staggered back into another scorpion statue, the priest's hand tight around his neck.

Panic clawed at him as his airway became restricted. His fist caught Imhotep in the stomach and as the priest bent forward he brought his arm down, breaking the hold on his neck. Rick slammed his knee into Imhotep's stomach and shoved him away, taking a few steps back as he tried to remind his body how to breathe.

Rick always listened to his gut, and right now it was telling him that he was missing something. Like fighting with one hand tied behind his back. Everything felt off, jagged pieces trying to fit together, trying and failing without the last fragment that brought everything into one clarifying whole.

A glimmer of intuition not his own slid into place, followed by a cool draft that flowed through his insides like cold water on a hot day. A whisper that contained no sound prodded at him, urged him forward only there was no forward, only flailing confusion. Rick dodged another swipe from Imhotep, threw himself behind a pillar. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but if it didn't knock it off right now he was going to get himself killed.

Another silent whisper, and suddenly Rick clenched his jaw in determination. Only it was faint, a bare sliver of the drive that carried him through life. His gaze catching on a brazier full of darting flame, Rick was suddenly reminded of the black veil Evy had worn while trying to find Hamunaptra. It had been sheer, allowing only a hint of the smooth skin beneath to show through. The determination he felt was faded, as if seen through a veil.

Intuition told him to push. Confused, Rick tried. Without realizing it he lifted his hands and pushed at nothing. Feeling like he'd lost it, Rick was about to put his hands down when he realized that he'd felt resistance, the barest thread of opposition.

Fear skittered down his spine and Rick gave a muffled shout of surprise. He darted out from behind the pillar and out in front of the massive double doors. What the hell was going on?

With a shout Imhotep lunged out from around another pillar, a fist colliding with Rick's cheek bone with dizzying force. Rick tried to block, and only got a knee to the stomach for his trouble. The strong bone of Imhotep's palm struck Rick in the chest and he staggered back, only to have his legs swept out from underneath him. Rick flailed as he lost his balance, and white pain flared across his arms as his weight carried him to the ground, his arms catching him before his face could hit the unyielding stone.

The kick Imhotep landed against his side while Rick was on all fours almost shattered his ribs. The force of it alone was astounding; tossing him high into the air with false strength that infuriated Rick even as it terrified him. As much as it hurt, Rick twisted with the blow and managed to land on his feet, one hand coming down to keep him from overbalancing. Straightening up, Rick had one moment to see the glee that twisted Imhotep's lips up into a dark smile before the rage swept over him.

As it settled around him it crystallized, sealing away all doubt and fear until it left him empty, standing in a strange calm that was impervious to gushing flame and the distant shrieks of the damned. Eyes like stone, Rick lashed out, his fist catching Imhotep across the face with a satisfying crunch of bone on bone. And as the blow landed, Rick felt the strange resistance give a little.

Lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl, Rick struck Imhotep several more times, each blow echoing against the barrier that pressed down on his mind the more he struck at it. He was so close, he could sense that he was moments from breaching through to the other side, and not even his confusion could stop him from slamming his fist into Imhotep's solar plexus.

The dull thud of his fist striking flesh was overshadowed by the muted crack of what sounded like breaking glass. It was more something he felt than heard, a ripple of sound that scraped through his bones like nails over a chalkboard. He would have been stunned by the mute sensation if he hadn't been bombarded by the determination he had only sensed earlier.

Now it washed over him like the tide, burying him under a fierce will forged by constant battle. Crystallized rage shattered, and in its wake Rick was seized by foreign knowledge that was suddenly as familiar as the stock of his shotgun pressing against his forearm. In a wild rush all the pieces clicked together and there was nothing more Rick wanted than to rip Imhotep apart with his bare hands, to wipe away the blight that twisted the lifeblood of the desert into a black caricature of its former glory.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another scorpion statue, and at the base rested two axes. When normally he would have hesitated, Rick lunged for them, scooping them up and swinging them around, his hands sure as he gripped the short staves. In that moment it didn't matter that he had never fought with two handed axes before. He knew how, and he held them both before him, waiting for Imhotep's move.

Imhotep's chosen weapon was a long stave with axe heads fastened at opposite ends. A difficult weapon to wield if never used before. Imhotep handled it with skill, the stave swinging and dipping in his hands as he advanced. Rick moved to meet him, swinging one axe to block a blow to his torso and followed it up with several one handed parries.

Rick didn't think, instead let his body follow through with the moves that rose up to meet him. Even as his mind tried to protest the ease with which he drove Imhotep back, his arms moved with a will of their own, slashing and blocking with a skill pulled from beyond shattered remains.

He saw Imhotep plant his weapon against the ground, and he read the tense muscles and angled limbs. Knowing what was coming he tried to step back out of the way, but the priest was too fast for him. Resting his weight on the double headed staff Imhotep used it to lever his weight forward, slamming his feet into Rick's chest with breath stealing force.

Rick felt the heat of the brazier before his back slammed into it, and he threw himself forward as fire and oil spilled from the shallow dish that held it. He rolled to his feet as a sea of liquid fire rose up behind him.

* * *

Black sand exploded in Ardeth's face as his blade severed the Anubis warrior's head. Breathing hard and his face slick with sweat and blood, Ardeth looked up, ready to face his next foe.

He was met with the elated cries of his fellow Medjai as they celebrated the death of the last Anubis warrior, their swords lifted to the sky in joy. Looking around Ardeth saw the blood that stained his brothers, the bodies of the fallen interspersed with those that yet held onto life. Their cries rang through him, fed the will and determination to prevail that had kept him swinging when every muscle in his body ached.

Beneath the triumphant cries of his people, he felt a tremor of dark power.

With that intuition came the sharp determination of _other_ that pierced him. He had felt Rick break through the barriers he had erected, but the breach had only sharpened the battle lust that had seized him. Two minds connecting two bodies, two battles shared through their hearts if not their blades. It had hurt, but the pain had only blended with the steady burn at his side where an Anubis warrior had gotten too close.

He could feel Rick's struggle, his desperation _not to lose_ a mantra that filtered through the bond to Ardeth, where it continued to echo the intensity he himself had harbored only a few moments before. Rick was still fighting, engaged in his battle and the ferocity that touched him kept him shaking.

Reaching out with the senses that he had been honed through long years of training, Ardeth attempted to follow that feather soft flicker of shadow beneath sunlight. What he found sent nausea coiling down into his stomach, leaving him cold beneath a burning sun. Ignoring the cheers that filled the air around him, Ardeth sprinted. It hurt to move, to push his body beyond a point of pain and exhaustion to simple movement.

He flew over the bloody sands, racing towards a high dune that concealed the approaching horror. He could feel it, a blight upon the light of his home, a seething hunger that reached for him, clicking claws and stinging poison. Ardeth was barely aware of the others following him, their harsh breaths and the patter of their feet over sliding sand of no consequence. His senses were filled with the encroaching evil; his heart was far within an ancient temple fighting a monster beyond legend.

Ardeth raced up the dune, his sword held in a tight fist. He was so tired, his steps broad and awkward. He stumbled and righted him self with a burst of strength that he could not afford. He looked out at the far horizon and the light blinded him, but even with the spots that danced across his vision he could see. They came over the distant hill like the plagues of old, a visible taint across the sands he loved.

This army was triple the size of the one before, and Ardeth could only watch in growing horror as they kept on coming. More and more poured over the horizon as if from the depths of hell itself and still they came. The dark power that summoned them hung heavy in the air, a bitter pall that gagged him with the stench of rotting things. Yet he could not truly smell it, for it was through his magic that he felt it at all. His power recognized the taint that spilled towards him, shuddered before it.

With the true might of the Army of Anubis bearing down on him, Ardeth recognized that the lives of his people rested in the hands of the man that shared his soul. A man that even now strove to overcome an evil so terrible that history had literally purged itself of even its name.

"God help us."


	6. Chapter 6

With a fierce cry echoed in a hundred throats, Ardeth leveled his sword at the oncoming scourge. His legs and arms were shaking with fatigue, exhaustion so deep as to be painful settling into his bones and spreading outward. Every breath rasped against his dry throat, barely leashed terror leeching the moisture from his lips and tongue. The cuts and slashes he had accumulated during the battle burned as sweat mingled with blood. It was only the firm placement of his feet that kept him from swaying.

Far more pressing than the signs of a body being pushed beyond its limit was the headache that was building behind his eyes and echoing in his chest. It was a pain that went beyond physical, rooted deep in the core of what made him who he was. The bond he held with Rick was digging in deep, the power of their emotions plowing through the bond. The intensity was too much, and it was causing the bond to fray at the edges. The human mind wasn't meant to deal with another person on such an intimate level for a sustained amount of time. That they were fighting for their lives while linked so tightly was only unraveling him faster.

If Ardeth wasn't given a chance to reinforce his natural shields, he would succumb to the same fate he had avoided by bonding with Rick in the first place.

The ground beneath his feet began to shake as the approaching army closed the distance. With his own death sprinting towards him, Ardeth would have tried reinforce the shields right then if he thought he had even the barest chance of succeeding. He was too tired, the edges of his mind growing numb. The heightened fear and determination that filled them both would not be shut out, the threads of similar emotion seeking each other out and binding them tighter.

He and Rick were standing on a thin slip of ground and a gaping chasm on both sides. They could fall either way, it only took one of them to lose their balance and both would be doomed. If one of them died…..they would not die alone.

It would be a cruel twist of fate that, should Ardeth die, he would take Rick with him. Earlier the sudden bloom of joy beneath snarling rage in the other man had winded Ardeth, who had felt the new emotion like a kick to the chest. Evy's face had flashed across his vision for the space of a breath, her dark curls falling over her shoulders and eyes bright with terror. Ardeth didn't know how Evy had come back to life, but he been overjoyed.

Now that joy was twisting in on itself, forming a noose around Rick's neck.

With every foot gained by the desiccated army Ardeth's terror grew. The idea that after coming so far, after enduring so much, their efforts would be sand in the wind. They would be overrun by sheer numbers. Undoubtedly they would be crushed in a matter of seconds.

Ardeth wished that he had rejected Rick's magic. If he hadn't then only his people would bear the brunt of Anubis's might. Now all hope was lost for in his own death Ardeth would take Rick with him. Anubis will have vanquished his enemies in one fell swoop, all because Ardeth had not been able to live with the tearing sorrow of his own loss.

Ardeth was choking back his own self loathing when the sight of the impending army twisted, and instead of the vengeful dead he saw a dark cavern. Flames parted to reveal a terrible creature, a horrifying blend of human greed and mindless violence. The face of a man snarled over snapping pincers that reached for him. He could almost feel the creature's hunger for blood and the dull rip of shredded flesh.

* * *

Rick was beyond thinking. With the Scorpion King close enough to feel the heat that emanated off the revolting blend of human and insect he couldn't have stopped moving if he wanted to. He threw himself to the side when a claw bigger than his head threatened to cut deep into his torso. Shrieking instincts and the sound of his wife's desperate cries mingled with the Scorpion King's roar. Training took over as his feet left the ground and he twisted into it, rolling with the force of his lunge and coming to his feet.

He didn't have room in him for terror when he saw that his panicked flight had led him to the chasm where the dead writhed, their mouths and eyes gaping maws of endless pain and hunger. Ignoring the pressure of their desire for life Rick twisted, turning his back on them to face the impending threat.

The Scorpion King filled his vision, looming closer and above until all he could see was a snarling face, mottled skin, and flashing pincers seeking vulnerable flesh. As he turned, Rick felt the sick drop in his stomach that told him he was losing his balance. Even as the Scorpion King lunged he was falling back into the reaching hands of the damned.

Reflex forced his hands up, plunging the Spear of Osiris deep into the Scorpion King's scaled belly.

Rick had heard of moments where time seemed to stop for people, and their lives flashed before their eyes. It was something he had never had the chance to experience, even counting the number of times he had stared death in the face. He was granted with that experience for the first time as he hovered over the writhing dead, but instead of seeing his life, Rick saw endless sand and a dark army plunging towards him with murder in their eyes.

Although dampened by fear and shock, the rage that had carried him this far roared to the forefront. It blazed through him, clawing through his belly and up his throat. "Go to hell! And take your friends with you!"

Tightening his hold on the spear Rick twisted it up, feeling the flesh tear and rend as internal organs gave way. The Scorpion King roared his pain and furious defeat. Rick held on for dear life as the creature's body spasmed around the spear bisecting its flesh. Rick didn't have a chance to cry out as the flesh holding him upright disintegrated into black smoke.

* * *

Ardeth knew that they had survived before he saw the air ship clear the surging sands. Rick's relief was a cool balm against the burning rage that had seized him before. It still hurt, shards of ice slicing over areas that would remain tender for days to come. The force of it had him sagging over Antar's neck, pressing his face against the stallion's coarse mane as he forced him self to breathe. But it was a welcome pain knowing that his friends had survived their victory.

Once he was sure that he could sit up straight, Ardeth coaxed Antar into an easy walk. He had been delighted to discover that the horse had survived the battle, since Ardeth had leapt off the stallion some time during the fight. He hadn't seen the stallion until after, the loyal mount picking his way through bloody sands and the dead to find him.

They walked across the top of the dune until they were easily visible from those above.

A gentle tug on the reins, all he could afford for the time being, brought Antar to a halt. His eyes followed the slow flight of the air ship as it glided higher, and he smiled upon seeing that no familiar faces were missing. All were accounted for, and soft strains of their voices drifted down to him. He could not make out the words, but he recognized the tone. Elation and exhaustion; relief that they would all live to see another day.

His eyes sought out Rick, who was leaning against the railing, watching him back. Ardeth could feel the other man's fatigue, knew that soon he would succumb to a deep sleep as his body struggled to restore the balance their bond had wreaked havoc on. Blind as Rick was to the magic that answered his call, the Westerner would only think it was due to their frantic journey and subsequent battle for survival. Ardeth had no interest in revealing the truth. Some things were better left alone, a lesson the Medjai knew well.

Rick would return to England, his family whole and safe. Given a few days rest and Ardeth would be able to erect the barrier that would keep them separate from one another. Once they were on separate continents and had the sea between them the bond would diminish. It would not break; it would merely cease to be anything more than a bare thread connecting them.

Ardeth also had no intention of telling the elders of what had transpired. Bonds such as the one he shared with O'Connell were rare. One such as theirs had not taken place for many generations, and they would want O'Connell to remain, if only so they could understand it better. It was something that Ardeth would not allow. Rick did not know what his magic had done, and Ardeth felt no need to change that. Essam would be informed; for there was little he could keep from his mentor and friend. But that was as far as it would go.

As the air ship began to glide away, Ardeth pressed his fore finger and thumb to his lips, then to his forehead in a salute. _"Peace be with you, my brother."_

Ardeth knew that Rick would not hear the words, but for the time being, he would feel the intent behind them. He could just make out Rick return the salute with one of his own before turning his head to look down at his wife.

Ardeth remained where he was until the air ship was nothing more than a dark spot against blue sky. He doubted that he would ever again see the man who was his Heart-Brother, but the future was a broad thing. There was no telling how Fate would choose to weave the strings that bound them together.


End file.
